I was having lunch downtown yesterday afternoon while pouring through one of the latest Local Art and Media newspaper. Reading up on the local talent is always interesting as most of the local talent are rich Governor’s School kids who dress like bums and sit on the corner while playing their sax or acoustic guitar. Surprisingly, I found an article on a band whose lead singer used to be a student of my mother’s. Also surprisingly, I remembered to ask for the lettuce to be left off my sandwich. Anyway, I was eating and reading when a tap on the glass in front of me caused me to jump.
An old flame stood there. Old, for years have passed and flame, because our love was a bittersweet discovery of lips, hands, and cheeks forever red. Junior High was rough. His friends teased because he admitted that he liked a girl and my friends teased because I blushed when kiss was mentioned.
A weeklong school trip in a quaint town found me trying Root Beer for the first time, dancing on benches in the moonlight, and falling head over heels for that certain boy. I had boofy hair (the discovery of leave-in conditioner was to come later) and his smile was a little crooked. But love is blind for many wonderful reasons. We had our fair share of whispered phone calls in the night and secret letters quickly flung into book bags.
But life went on, as life does. We slowly parted ways in high school while managing to keep a sheepish grin plastered when passing in the halls. Amazingly, we ended up at the same college and in the same study of field. The last time I saw him was when he threw me that slow wave goodbye after graduation.
And here he was in front of the café. Smiling. And then looking away quickly as the woman on his arm glanced at me with a dark look. His eyes held the questions. I just simply smiled and went back to my newspaper.